Moonhair
by wRiter Reverie
Summary: A young elf wishes to restore the Elvish kingdom of Quel'Thalas to its former glory, but his people seem to lack his spirit... and his courage...


There, in his little spot within a jungle of tropical trees, he ceased his sword-swinging for a chance to gaze at the human girl that was walking past. Quickly jumping to the nearest tree, he leaned against it so to be hidden from her view. His breathing slowed and quieted. He lifted his sword so that he could catch a glimpse of her reflection on his blade.

_Thank goodness that I shine this every night._

As she walked, he rotated his sword so that her reflection could still be seen. Her beautiful, blond hair was cut at shoulder's length. Over her dark blue eyes were two neatly trimmed eyebrows. He admired at the perfect curve of her nose, the pinkness of her lips, and feminine narrowness of her chin, which matched her neck as well as the rest of her body. Truly slender her waist was, comparable to an elf girl. She held an empty flower basket with the thin fingers of one hand while the other was placed on her forehead to shield away the sun's rays. The plain dress that she wore seemed to somewhat hide her glow, although it was clear that a lot of effort had been spent trying to make the dress look as nice as possible.

He wished that the girl would walk slower. At length, when she disappeared from his sight, he sheathed his sword with a sigh.

And it was immediately drawn again as he was startled by a voice. He jumped forward with his sword pointed at the source.

"It is shameful for an elf to be spying on a woman."

He recognized the speaker as soon as he saw dark hair emerge from behind another tree. It would have been embarrassing to anyone not to have noticed the presence of the other elf earlier, especially since the other elf had on dark clothing that stood out from the vivid scenery. From his hooded cape to his boots, everything was either gray or black.

"Are you not able to make any noise at all when you walk?" chuckled the first elf, as he leaned again against the tree.

"That is not the elvish way," came the stolid response. "Come along, Arion. We have been waiting for you."

The contrast between the two could easily be seen. A grin faced a frown. One was bound in a simple tunic dirtied by various stains. The other was clothed in clean attire with a majestic cape. The short, ragged brown hair, of the first, looked all the more impure next to the long, silken black hair of the second. If one observed closely, one would notice that Arion's eyebrows were short, like a human's. The eyebrows of the dark-haired elf were long enough that they extended beyond the perimeter of his face, poking out to represent his age and experience.

"No one but you, Lorn, is waiting for me, and I already told you that I refuse to practice archery today. I mean to practice my swordsmanship."

"Swords are not the elvish way, either," responded Lorn, who, unlike Arion, carried a bow and quiver on his back instead of a scabbard on his belt. "We may live in a human community at present, but that does not mean for us to yield to their traditions. How do you hope to become a great elf, acting the way you are?"

The grin faded. Arion's brown eyes looked to the sky in defeat. It was trouble to argue with Lorn. He put away his sword.

"Fine, I'll come along. I was about done, anyway. I'll go fetch my cape, and my bows and arrows."

"Forget the cape; you will not need that. You may borrow my equipment. Just come as you are."

They made their way to a clearing where many other elves were gathered with the same intent of archery practice. Upon their entry, an elf girl approached them.

"Lorn! I see that Arion is with you."

This elf girl was a bit shorter than the other two, being the youngest one at this session. Her short eyebrows affirmed that fact. The darkness of her hair could compete with that of Lorn and so could her cleanliness of appearance. Yet, her style of clothing more resembled Arion's in terms of color. Both wore a khaki tunic and pants, with simple brown boots. And while she was clean, the way she strapped her belt around her waist and the way her tunic fitted unevenly into her pants was the same as Arion: untidy. She did don a light gray cape, though she preferred to call it silver. Most importantly, however, was that her emotions radiated as much as Arion's, and the bright, blue eyes that shown welcome from under the shadow of her hood.

"I was becoming uneasy while you were gone Lorn."

"You need not worry, Marin. No harm will come to you from those here."

Lorn led them into place to begin practice. Arion and Marin walked with the sound of shuffling sand, whereas Lorn walked soundlessly. Along the way, eyes of distaste turned away when they drew near. Whispers of words undistinguishable, but meanings unmistakable, passed between the elves. Scornful expressions glared at the younger two.

He stopped between a few trees with his bow readied in his left-handed stance; the bow in his right hand and the arrows armed with his left. He aimed at the space right between them and released. In a frame of less than a second, the arrow disappeared from Lorn's side. The archer now signaled to the ones following him.

"Hit my arrow, with one of your own."

Arion stepped forward and looked to where the arrow was fired. From the gap in between the trees, an unobstructed path shot through the jungle, and at the end was Lorn's arrow, lodged in the trunk of another tree. Not only that, but its head was in the center of a tiny ring, dangling from a thread held in place by another arrow. It must have been three hundred feet away. Marin came up to Arion's side to take a look for herself and was stunned. As a matter of fact, Lorn rarely failed to impress her.

The skilled archer handed over his own bow and quiver to Arion who then muttered a brief thanks before accepting it. Taking a deep breath, he readied an arrow and eyed his target once more.

He hated this situation. Never had he been a good archer by elf standards, and was ashamed every time he attended these practice sessions. Standing there at that moment, wearing his soiled tunic, in his capeless outfit, with his short hair that reached just past his pointed ears, he felt out of place. It helped little that he was disliked by all the others, too; no auras of encouragement were felt by him in this clearing.

His shaky fingers tried best to do their job. The bow raised with his left hand, the string tightened with his right, and the arrow wavered against the bow. Arion couldn't distinguish whether it was his right hand trembling the arrow, or his left shaking the bow. Perhaps it was the fault of both. In addition, sweat, from his head, was dripping into his eyes. He knew that this arrow wouldn't hit its target; it wouldn't even come close. He couldn't fire it straight with all of this nervousness keeping his body from being still. But the pressure continued to build without signs of release.

He sensed the others watching him now. He always sensed the others watching him. They would laugh at him in their minds and he feared that. No matter how much he tried to convince himself not to care, his nature wouldn't allow him.

"Do not worry; just let go," advised Lorn's reassuring voice.

He let go.

An instant later, the bow was lowered, the string was no longer taut, and the arrow was gone. Not only did it miss the mark, it missed the tree by a good five feet. The clearing was hushed with a silence that he felt was even quieter than the movement of elves. The humiliation caused his cheeks to flush. Sweat glued his hair to his forehead.

_I can see their smiles. Damn their smiles!_

"Your turn," muttered Arion, to Marin, as he receded.

Marin came forth, patted Arion on the shoulder, and proceeded to fire her own arrow. It scored just as much success as the previous one. Her hands were visibly shuddering like Arion's. This pattern went on with them exchanging turns to fire at the arrow in the ring. The other elves eventually tired of watching and returned to their own targets. Hours passed and they made slight progress, able to hit the trunk of the tree after multiple tries. By then, many elves had already gone home.

Arion and Marin's quivers were much lighter than earlier.

"Wasting arrows is not wise in battle."

"It's too far!" grumbled Arion.

"Others have farther ones," reminded Lorn.

"For us, it's too far."

"Leave me out of this, Arion! I'm not complaining!" declared Marin, from her seat on a fallen log.

"You miss more than I do!"

"Yes, but my-"

"Improvement, for both of you, has been coming by far too slowly," interrupted Lorn, deciding not to be patient any further. "I will not let either one of you leave, unless that ring is no longer around that arrowhead."

The arrow was getting harder to see now that the sun lowered itself. The light cast the shadows of trees at an angle that helped to hide his mark. Cursing, Arion aimed once more at the arrow in the ring. His anger and frustration replaced whatever nervousness or embarrassment he felt before. His arms stiffened like a statue; the string of his bow was pulled tighter than any prior attempts. The arrow rested steadily against the bow. He released the arrow.

And it struck.

Unfortunately, Lorn's arrow was not splintered; it was knocked at the tail end so that it dipped and pointed down. Yet, the head still clung loosely to the tree. Arion stared in disbelief: first for the actual contact, second for the arrow not falling off. He stamped his feet in aggravation.

"I doubt that can shake the arrow off."

"Quiet! It's your turn again."

Marin rose. Somehow the achievement of the elf boy stirred a determination inside of her. She held her bow out in front with her left hand and with her right she drew an arrow back until it was beside her cheek. Her right eye closed, leaving only the left open, and the moment paused. She became stiller than Arion or Lorn had ever seen her. One looked on in awe and the other in approval. Half a minute passed. She licked her lips and sucked in a breath of air. A full minute passed. Her right eye opened and closed again. Two minutes. Her left eye closed. Peace seemed with her.

"This will be the last one," assured Marin.

Her eyes shot open while the arrow shot out. It seemingly flashed as it passed under patches of sunlight and shadow. It soared with life, spirit, and grace looking blessed and divine. It did not hit its target, but fixed itself a few inches above, cutting the thread. The ring, loosened from its leash, slipped down Lorn's arrow and to the ground.

Lorn shook his head. Arion watched hopefully. It probably wasn't what their tutor had in mind. Still, the ring wasn't around the arrowhead anymore. Lorn had to keep his word.

"That was a decent form," he finally admitted. "However, your eyes should remain open. Aim with one, keep watch with the other.

"And you, Arion, do not look so upset. That was the finest shot I have yet seen from you. It would have been better if you eased your arms, your shoulders, and your face, most of all."

Marin beamed under the commendation. Arion shrugged at his comments.

"I'll try."

Lorn turned to leave.

"Even though the arrow remains, I will allow you two to return home. Before leaving, retrieve that ring and as many arrows as possible. Carry my bow for now, Arion, in case of any danger."

"Will you be fine without a weapon, Lorn?" asked Marin.

"I have plenty of other skills to protect myself. Until later, I bid you both farewell."

"You too, Lorn," wished Arion and Marin together.

Dusk left and the night arrived. Even now, Arion and Marin poked around the trees and shrubs to search for stray arrows. Their search took them quite far away from the clearing. Without the sun's aid, they relied on moonshine. But the moon was not full, and Marin feared getting lost. Neither one of them had ever stayed out in the jungle this late. If not for Arion's stumbling through bushes or foul language that rang out whenever a branch swiped his face, she would have been unable to keep track of his whereabouts.

"Damn it!"

Arion closed his eyes to avoid damage from another twig.

"Damn Lorn for making us slave like this!"

Marin was weary of this activity as well.

"I think we've picked up enough. Let's head home. Do you have the ring?"

"Yes, I have it. Let's go."

The elf boy altered his course and speed. He ran swiftly toward the human village, New Stratholme. Marin desperately did her best to chase, but she was no match in stamina. Moreover, her complete dependence on sound was misguiding; nature created noises that distracted her from Arion's trail.

She stopped suddenly, doubling over and panting. Seizing her breath, she tried to listen for Arion. Only the wind in the leaves, bird calls, and the occasional scampering of animals could be recognized. Fear started to grow inside of her.

"Arion! Where are you? Come back!"

Half a moment later, Arion appeared from the brush at her side.

"What's wrong, aren't you in a hurry to get back?"

"I can't run as fast as you, so slow down."

"Don't you know the way back? Lorn carved these signs." Arion pointed them out on a nearby tree.

"I… can't see that well."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said!" she confessed indignantly. "Even with the moon out, I'm nearly blind during the night."

"But you're an elf."

"That doesn't mean anything. Look at you; you're so loud that you could almost be mistaken for a boar barging through the forest."

"Then you need to be more concentrated when it comes to honing your elf skills."

"You should listen to yourself! I'm much younger than you; I've had a lot fewer years to train. All of your _other_ skills are as bad as mine. The only reason that your eyesight is so keen is because you're always spying on those human girls!"

"Actually, it's because I'm always looking out for Lorn or any of the other elves, lest _they_ should find me spying on girls," came the joking reply.

"Or playing with that sword," she added. "By the way, why do you dislike Lorn so much? He's the only one that gives us any help at all when everybody else shuns us like the Scourge."

Arion turned away and started walking, this time slowly for Marin's sake.

"I don't dislike him. I just find him annoying sometimes."

"'Annoying?'"

"Sometimes, I wished that he would spend less effort making me into an 'elf.' I appreciate his attention – I really do! But, it's bothersome when he lectures me on what is 'elvish' and what isn't. What is 'elvish,' anyway? All he is spouting are just the stereotypes associated with the culture of our race. I can understand him getting mad at me for spying on girls, but what is wrong with me using a sword. He claims it not 'elvish.' Not 'elvish,' my ass! Why when I was in-"

"You shouldn't swear so often," scolded Marin, rolling her eyes. "It's not 'elvish' and its 'annoying.' You should tell him how you feel next time."

"Tell him how I feel? What difference would that make? He isn't stupid, and any fool can realize how I feel; I want to learn how to wield a sword. Alas, there's no point in arguing with him. He won't even listen to anything that I say. He'll just repeat the same sentence over: 'It is not the elvish way,' or something else to that effect."

He paused where he was.

"Oh no, I think I followed the wrong sign. The moonlight must have tricked my eyes."

"The moon doesn't trick your eyes! You just didn't see it clearly. I thought that your eyesight was good."

"I'm only an elf! I'm not perfect."

He scanned the bark of several trees before moving again.

"In truth, a lot of the times I feel guilty about being around him."

"Guilty? Why?"

"When we are around him, he isn't able to interact with other elves, because they don't like us. He can't go on hunts with them, either. He somehow feels obligated to stay and helps with whatever trouble we're having. On top of that, we probably make him look bad. We hold him back from being the great elf hero he could be. We're burdening him."

Marin pondered on the words that were just spoken to her. It made perfect sense. Now she felt guilty that she never saw their reliance on Lorn to be a hindering load. How selfish of her to seek him out everyday just to get a check on her bowstring, aid in making arrows, help in correcting her posture, and sometimes solely for the sake of feeling secure among the other elves.

With great concentration, Arion found the correct path. They walked on toward the human village wordlessly, Arion in front and Marin behind. Arion detested this type of circumstance, the type where a lively conversation abruptly dies. He sought for anything to say in his head, but it was stacked with thoughts relating to Lorn. Giving in to his mind, he just thought about Lorn. More specifically, he thought about how he hoped to prove Lorn wrong.

_One day I will show you that there is more to the "elvish way" than you think._

Soon enough though, his dreaming was disrupted. The heel of his foot came in contact with a hard object. Reflexively, he withdrew his foot. Stooping over, he picked up the object, revealing a rudimentary knife roughly three quarters the length of his forearm. Its handle was carelessly scratched from wood, and its blade was no doubt shaped and sharpened by instruments as primitive as itself.

"What is that?" inquired Marin.

"A knife." Holding it in his right hand, he felt along the edge with the middle finger of his other hand and accidentally cut open a wound. "It's crude, but amazingly sharp. Judging from what Lorn has told me, this is most likely a troll knife."

Leaves rustled from behind.

"Was that a bird?" Marin backed away, up against the closest tree, reaching for her bow. It was a pointless question; she did not think that herself.

"No, it was too big."

Arion spotted a conspicuous movement across from them. The leaves had not swayed in tune with the wind. His focused eyes suddenly discerned a hostile figure. He pulled Marin away from the tree, seconds before a spear embedded itself where she had stood. They lay on the ground, frozen in shock. Words of a foreign tongue exchanged nearby between what Arion guessed to be trolls. Trolls were notorious for their simple, yet deadly, weapons and agility in combat that equaled the elves. There were three, no, four of them.

He shoved Marin under a bush, pulled out the spear, and then crawled in himself. Using all of his effort, he managed to conceal themselves. He lifted his head slightly to look at the trolls.

The trolls lingered in the shadows of the trees, talking and grunting. At last they dispersed, but two were headed in the general direction of the elves. Arion sucked in his breath and hoped that Marin would be quiet. The trolls were too close for him to do anything without disclosing his location. His heart pounded louder than ever. His eyes dared not to blink. Sweat was suspended on his eyebrows.

Closer, the trolls crept. He steered his spear at them. Closer and closer still. Then past.

Even with the troll past their bush, Arion maintained his silence. He waited several minutes before lowering his head to speak with Marin.

"They've missed us; they've gone by our bush. Come on! If we run, they'll hear us, but I think we can make it back to New Stratholme."

They got out of the bush and stood up. Marin's face was also gleaming with sweat. The air that she held was released. She did her best to calm her breathing. Arion understood that this was a horrible and unwise plan, but neither he, nor Marin, could offer any alternative. Like frightened rabbits, they sped through the jungle, swatting aside leaves and twigs. Consequently, the trolls noticed the racket and pursued.

Two of the trolls had headed in the opposite direction earlier on and appeared, without warning, before the fleeing elves. The unexpected entrance gave Arion little time to attack with a weapon, so he, instead, swung a fist at the one nearest to him, attempting to land a hit on the head. His fist painfully met something hard, and the troll stumbled backwards. He seized this opportunity to push him into a tree. Much to his surprise, the troll recovered instantly and grabbed at his arms. Arion dodged the grab, and took off in a panic. Fear compelled his legs to dash. He wouldn't stop running, and he couldn't think to control himself. Instinct steered him around trees, beyond shrubs, and from the troll. Gradually, his rational mentality returned and he became aware that no one was chasing him.

Immediately, he reprimanded and cursed himself for being such a coward, for running, for hiding, for not fighting.

And for leaving Marin behind.

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**Author's Note:** Hello this is wRiter Reverie and I just want to thank you for reading this story. I've finally gotten the chapter up after hours of revising and editing. Major thanks goes to Evil Butterflies for acting as my beta reader. 

I just thought I'd mention that I'm basing my story only up to the story of Warcraft III and one campaign into its expansion pack. In other words, there's going to be many inconsistencies with the Warcraft story as it is now, how Blizzard left it. You can think of my story as an alternate plot. 

Once again, I thank the readers. I hope you'll enjoy this story. 


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